Trick or Treat?
by deangirl1
Summary: Weechester. Well. It's Halloween....


**Disclaimer:** No copyright infringement intended. I own nothing. Kripke has the best toys…

**A/N:** I know that I am a horrible person. I owe many, many people review replies. I do cherish and appreciate every one. I also know that I have other stories I am supposed to be working on…

I wrote this for a challenge last year on another site. It never did get much love. Maybe it sucks… But it's Halloween and it seemed wrong not to post _something_….

Happy Halloween!

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The doorbell rang again. Dean moved to open it while Sammy grabbed the bowl of candy. John, of course, would never approve, but Dean figured what he didn't know, wouldn't hurt him. It's not like they weren't taking plenty of precautions.

Sammy had never gotten to go trick or treating. Dean had only gone the once when his mother took him. Sam always had to listen to the other kids talk about it though. It was just one more way for him to feel like a freak. It was one more part of a normal childhood that Sam was missing.

Dean wasn't crazy. He knew he couldn't take Sammy out, but he could let Halloween come to them. So Dean had skipped lunch for about two weeks to be able to buy the candy to shell out, so Sammy could see Halloween for himself. So far they'd had several princesses, ghosts, pirates, hobos, some Star Wars characters, the latest horror movie characters, a zombie, and a clown. That one hadn't gone over too well with Sam. Actually he'd run into the bedroom and was a lot less keen to open the door the next time the bell went. Luckily, he'd managed to get over it.

Things were starting to wind down now. The bell was ringing less frequently and the kids were getting older. Dean was relieved as they were quickly running out of candy.

Before opening the door, Dean quickly checked their defences. He had placed not one but three lines of salt in front of the door. He stood between the first and second line. Sammy stood between the second and third lines with the bowl of candy to pass to Dean.

Dean was greeted by a chorus of "Trick or treat!" as he opened the door. There were three kids on the porch. One was dressed as the current horror movie star, one was dressed as a devil, and the last one didn't appear to be wearing a costume. That pissed Dean off. The kid was really too old to be trick or treating and then to not even dress up! Dean reached in the bowl for candy to place in the bags of the first two.

"What are you supposed to be?" Dean asked the third kid.

"Serial killer - they're always just your average guy until they go on a killing spree..."

The kid was creeping Dean out. More importantly he was freaking Sammy out. Which in turn was pissing him off. No way this kid was getting any of their candy.

"I think I'll take the trick," Dean challenged the third kid.

"Ok. Just remember that you _asked _for it." And then he just turned and walked away. A shiver went up Dean's spine as he closed the door.

"Freak," he muttered under his breath.

SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSN

The "serial killer" was just about the last kid they saw, which suited Sammy and Dean just fine because that meant that they had some candy left over for themselves. They ate some of the leftover candy and watched _Night of the Living Dead_ before heading to bed. Dean let Sam stay up past his regular bedtime because (A) dad was off hunting and (B) it was Friday night.

By the time they were ready for bed, a storm had sprung up and the thunder and lightning were pretty impressive for the late autumn. Sam was doing his best to act unimpressed, but Dean knew how much he didn't like storms. Dean was beginning to regret having spent most of the evening trying to spook his little brother. His regret truly blossomed when the lights suddenly died.

"Ddd...eeeaann?" Sammy's voice quavered in the dark.

"Right here, runt." Dean reassured him, moving to grasp his brother's arm as he came out of the bathroom.

"It's not like we weren't going to turn the lights out in a minute to go to sleep anyway." Dean led his little brother to his bed, pulling down the sheets and blankets and helping him in.

Suddenly, Dean heard the window slide up and felt a breeze flow into the bedroom. The salt lines on the window sill were quickly being blown apart. Dean pulled the blankets up on his brother; he would have to lock that window more carefully. The salt lines on the floor still held. Dean's eyes were drawn to the window as a flash of lightning lit the night.

Fingers were grasping the window sill. Grey fingers with blackened nails, sliding over the frame in the now total absence of salt. Dean was frozen in place, watching in horror as a head came into view, the lightening continuing to flash as the storm intensified.

Dean's eyes locked on the face that bobbed up in the window. A grey face, framed by lank black hair. Eye sockets black and empty except for the black oil that trailed from them down the face that was strangely neither young nor old but a combination of the two.

Sam whimpered and brought Dean out of his trance. He quickly gripped his brother's head so he could not turn and see the window behind him. Gently but firmly, Dean pulled the younger boy from the bed.

"Dean? I thought we were going to bed?"

"Soon. I want you to keep me company while I check the salt in the living room. Can you do that Sammy?" Dean concentrated on keeping his brother focused on him.

"Ok, Dean." Sam frowned a little at the change in plans, but he trusted Dean and followed him out of the bedroom. Sam thought they were moving a little fast for the darkness, and he started when Dean all but slammed the bedroom door.

"Is something wrong, Dean?" Sam's voice still had a bit of a quaver to it.

"NO. Sorry, Sam - the wind must have caught the door," Dean lied easily. What little brother didn't know couldn't hurt him.

Dean hustled Sam back into the living room as quickly as he could, settling him back on the couch and pulling a blanket over him.

"Are we going to sleep here now?" Sam was confused.

"Yeah. It'll be warmer out here if the storm makes the weather colder."

Dean left his brother to grab the salt by the door and moved quickly down the hallway to the closed bedroom door. As he carefully laid a line of salt in front of the door, Dean was sure that he could hear scratching on the other side. As he finished the line a long grey finger snaked out from under the door and curled around the bottom of it.

Dean stumbled back almost falling in his haste to get back to his brother.

How the hell had that thing broken through the carefully laid defences of their home? Dean was relieved to see that Sammy seemed to have drifted off to sleep under the blanket on the couch. The lightning and thunder were still rocketing around the house, providing a bit of illumination and Dean's eyes were adjusting to the lack of conventional lighting. He remembered that there was a flashlight in the kitchen cupboard, and there were probably some candles.

Detouring into the kitchen, Dean grabbed the flashlight and was relieved when it flared to life. Dean's next stop was the hall cupboard for the sawed off shotgun they hid there for emergencies. He quickly went to check the rest of the perimeter within the house. All the windows were locked and the salt was firmly in place. As he passed the door to their bedroom, however, the fingers snaked out at him and this time rattled the door fiercely.

"Screw you! Just stay in there or I'll blast you to hell!" Dean muttered defiantly. He didn't want to yell and wake up Sammy, and he didn't really want to have to use the shotgun. For once, they had a house (not a really nice one, but still a house) in the suburbs, and Dean was pretty sure the neighbours would call the cops at the sound of a gun. He'd try to wait the thing out. Dad had been pretty vague about when he was due back, but he rarely left the boys alone between November first and third. Superstitious maybe.

Dean made his way back to check on Sammy, but when he bent over the blanket on the couch, he realized that his brother wasn't there!

"SAMMY!" Dean didn't give a crap who heard that. "SAAAMMAAAYYY!"

Dean whirled in a circle, eyes wide and ears straining to hear any sound or sign from his brother. He was panting and there was a pain in his chest. He couldn't get any air. He couldn't think. _Think. Damn it, Dean. Think_.

The bedroom.

Had to be in the bedroom.

With that thing.

But how?

It couldn't have gotten by him. Could it?

Shit.

He'd have to go in.

Dean made his way back to the bedroom.

"Have you got my brother, you freak?" Dean screamed at the door.

There was a noise.

The fingers were back under the door, only this time one was crooked at him and beckoning.

Dean swallowed.

Then he squared his shoulders. _Damn you. You can't just screw with a Winchester. And sure as hell not Sam._

"You want a piece of me? Fine. You get all of me, you bitch!"

Dean threw the door open and brought the shotgun up. He would have gone in guns blazing except that he had no idea where Sam was and couldn't chance hitting him. That thing was in the middle of the room. Dean still couldn't decide if it was young or old. It had long black hair, hanging in stringy, oily bits. It seemed to be in the remains of a tattered dress. Other than its hair and the oily substance leaking from the empty sockets where its eyes should be, it was grey all over. A sickly grey. It was somehow shrouded in mist like it was gently smoking somehow.

All the hair on Dean's body was standing straight up. Cold sweat trickled down his spine.

"Where's my brother, you bitch?"

And just when Dean didn't think he could be any more creeped or freaked out, the damn thing smiled at him.

It. Smiled.

And then it giggled and disappeared.

"NO!" Dean shrieked.

He raced back out to the living room, and skidded to a sudden stop.

"NO. NO. NO!"

IT was in the living room. And so was Sam.

Sam was sitting in the recliner that their father favoured. IT was standing beside him. IT wasn't totally grey anymore. IT had some colour. IT had red dripping from ITs fingers as IT slowly raised them to ITs grey mouth and ITs black tongue darted out to lick the red off.

Sam's throat was a bloody mess - it had been sliced from ear to ear.

There was no light in Sam's eyes. He was gone.

The power to stand drained out of Dean and he sank to his knees in the middle of the room, shotgun forgotten beside him. A welcome blackness was claiming him.

And then his father was bursting through the front door, driving a stake through IT.

IT shimmered and went up in smoke. Sam shimmered and went up in smoke.

And then Sam sat up on the couch, rubbing his eyes.

"Hi Dad! Is the power back on yet?" Sammy asked still blinking owlishly.

"Dean!"

"Yes, sir?" Dean answered weakly from the floor.

"Dean? Did you invite a damn Trickster into our home? On Halloween, no

less?"

"Umm. Not on purpose?"

"Did I miss something?" Sam asked.

"Just your brother letting his smart mouth get him into trouble again," John sighed.

Dean just grinned weakly from the floor. He knew he didn't like that kid. He was even more glad that he hadn't given him any candy. Then Dean's gaze fell on the candy bowl. It was empty now.

_Sonuvabitch!_

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A/N: Don't forget to leave a little something in my lootbag before you go.....


End file.
